


i can show you how to scratch a record

by negativecosine



Series: i can keep rhythm with no metronome [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Oral, PWP, Speciesswap, Tentabulges, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativecosine/pseuds/negativecosine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat goes down on Dave! Dave is pretty much fine with that!</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can show you how to scratch a record

**Author's Note:**

> Even less plot or emotional substance than the prequel. Dave has less species dysphoria than Karkat, so that's not even a thing.

Human nails are tiny and stupid and he can't hurt you enough to get you off and you have to cradle his skull like an eggshell when he finally, _finally_ makes his way down- 

Nope. Karkat is making another fucking U-turn on your chiseled grey abs, heading back up to suck on your neck and while that's nice and all you were really really fucking ready to just-

You're just

really _wet_. 

And you have no idea what to fucking do about that, and he hasn't even gotten your pants off and your shirt's all ripped up and still hanging off one of your horns and you let him push you down on your back on the floor because you were afraid you'd hurt him if you tried to stop him and you can't fucking think, you are so wet you're convinced that you're gonna have to burn these pants, fuck. 

"Vantas," you try. He is really a trooper about this Give-Dave-A-Hickey-Or-Die-Trying thing. Either he really likes jaw pain (seriously he could crack a tooth and not leave a damn dent in your neck), or he is entertaining fantasies of, of, 

- _marking you_ , your brain helpfully supplies. GOD you are wet. You are not even totally clear on _where_ you are wet, you just _are_. "VANTAS," you say, because he does not seem to get the point. 

"Strider," he says directly into your skin. You let him pin your wrists down, and you keep hearing this weird rumbling sound, where the fuck is that coming from. 

"Vantas you need to get-" you can't just grab him and shove him, you'd break his neck. "Karkat." 

He sort of groans into your neck and lets go of your wrists, pulls off you, and the loss of his warmth is genuinely fucking awful until you collect enough of your wits about you to realize that he is fumbling with your jeans. He is rapidly losing the battle, and his pretty dark face is all flushed and rumbled with frustration, and he lets out a breath like gratitude when you finally reach down and decimate the whole business enough to get it down. At first, that's pretty much enough for you, because with your pants shoved down around your thighs your tentacle dick can wave out, free as the fucking wind, and the air feels cold on it until his hot breath gets closer and wow. Wow. That is an awesome idea yes he should put his mouth on that. He seems to? Not want to put his mouth on it though? It gives a tentacley wiggle (you are watching your own junk down through your shades because it's still not lost the weird novelty) and he kind of seals his mouth up and ducks his head back, and puts his hands on it instead. Both hands, because Karkat Vantas is a go-getter, you want to give him a gold star, you want to dig your claws into his shoulders and drag all of him closer, but you just try like hell to hold still and let him deal with your shiny new pants octopus. 

It's actually like. Way bigger than you would have expected. It's hard to judge the real length when the thing keeps curling down to wind in and around his fingers, and you can feel every ridge on his hands, every little callous and groove, _fuck_ , but it's thicker than your dick was, and definitely big enough that you're not going to stick it in anyone without a lot of diagrams first. You don't know if it's troll-average or what, but Karkat seems to know his own decent way around your business, and isn't getting the vapors or anything, so that's gotta count for something. You haven't explored much, because your own claws are sharper than you're used to and you keep accidentally scraping up your arms that way, and no way in hell you're risking it where it's so fucking sensitive. Because, oh yeah, it is. Really fucking sensitive. And he's gentle, so gentle with it in a way you can't wrap your mind around at all, because every other part of you is screaming _not enough_ , but with your... whatever, it's borderline _too much_. 

Also you still really want him to put his mouth on it. 

"Karkat," you say, and your voice sounds weird and warped. Is that rumbling coming from _you_? Jesus god. It's really hard to form a sentence right now, even though mostly what's happening is you're getting a really slow, gentle hand-job with no other bodily contact at all. "What if you put your mouth on that." 

"Strider," he says, and makes eye contact with you, knows right where you're looking, shades or no, "What if shut up you nasty slut that is really kinky and no." 

You moan, and it's weird, but you're mostly not getting the urge to thrust your hips up into his hand like you normally would; you do it anyways, to make the point. His eyes widen a moment, then his brow drops down into a furrow of concentration. "Do not do the gross shit where you get off on being verbally abused," he says, only he's got his thumb and forefinger rubbing little circles right at the tip of your, whatever, so you're not taking him very seriously right now. "It's sad and not cute and I'm not calling you my nookslave." 

"Slut's fine," you manage to tell him, and then, "Wait, what's a-"

He rubs his thumb down under your... bulge, _whatever_ , dick, and there, oh, _that's_ where you're wet, apparently, and your thighs are still pinned together with your jeans and his knees on either side of you but oh fuck you want to spread your legs right fucking now, whatever he's touching is slick and hot and. And. 

"Nook," he says. Smug is a really good look for his new face. 

"Put your mouth on that, then," you say, and you squirm pretty fucking shamelessly, trying to get your legs unpinned. "Nubby blunt human teeth, come on, it's a thing-" 

"I know!" He squeezes a little when he snaps at you. "You demonstrated that pretty fucking well, alright, just, shut up for a second, let me think." Thinking apparently entails disentangling from your dick, and fuck that is not what you meant at all! But he does manage to get your pants off in one clean swipe, and with his weight off you your legs spread almost of their own accord, knees straight out and you feel all wide-open and _obscene_ , and he's staring hungrily at you like he knows exactly what to do with your junk, but not really the rest of you, and it's a little off-putting. "I'm supposed to be teaching you buckets," he says finally. "Perverted face-sex is not a bucket thing."

"Can you do bucket things with," you glance down at him pointedly, "with what you've got?" 

He seems to consider it. The flats of four of his fingers are at the base of your dick and pressed flush against your nook. You try to evaluate what it would feel like to have a normal dick in there, but having no way of figuring out what you're shaped like inside, you really have no goddamn clue. 

"Compromise," he says finally, and sticks three fingers right in your nook. You fucking howl, wow, you were not fucking ready for that, and it's tight and he's wigglin them and it's the weirdest fucking feeling, like someone took ticklishness and turned it up to eleven, and you strain your thighs and push your hips and your tentadick is going fucking insane, lashing and curling against your stomach and even the sensation of your own skin feels like too much for it, until Karkat finally. FINALLY. Puts his damn mouth on it. 

What's weird is, yeah, you've gathered that oral pretty much isn't a thing for trolls, but Karkat's soft pink human mouth is a good enough approximation of whatever troll sex entails that your bulge just goes 'right, yes' and pushes right back against his palette. Karkat takes it like a champ, fights back with tongue and while it looks fucking ridiculous (you cannot stop staring, god), it is pretty much the best thing ever. He can't keep glaring at you, which is a pity, but he's just as pretty with his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and his fingers are, his fingers are- really not enough, actually, they're short and nubby and you need _deep_ , and you growl and try to move, try to get more of Karkat's hand in you. 

"Karkat," you say, and it might be the only word you know right now, besides, "fuck," which you proceed to say a lot of times. He makes a muffled noise around your bulge and you are really really impressed that he hasn't choked yet, and curls his fingers different and it makes you say "KARKAT" followed by "FUCK" a lot more times, and your voice sounds fucked up and monsterish to your own ears and for some reason that gets you going even more and all the things getting you going are combined to get you going way too fast, like, just under the speed of light towards a black hole the density of two universes. There's a clattering noise, and Karkat just straight-up swallows your bulge, and his fingers are curled like he's trying to just pull your brain out through your fucking nook, and what do you know, it works. 

The bucket was probably a good idea. Also his reflexes- you have no idea how the fuck he missed the splash zone, but when he comes up and glares right in your face, there's hardly any troll-juice, except for the little dribble down the side of his chin, and that doesn't stay there long because you lick it off before you even think, and he makes a disgusted noise and snaps at you, and, that's pretty cute so you'll let him chew on you a bit. You also let him pet your magnificent rack because it feels nice at the base and he seems pretty into that, and give yourself a few minutes to stop shaking before you sit up. When you do, though, and look down-

"Fuck," you say, because words are still a bit beyond you. The bucket has a literal fucking splash zone. Your thighs are soaking wet and dripping and it looks nothing like blood, actually, more like paint, really sticky and opaque and fucked up, and he's watching you look, and he licks his lips, his tongue all pink and his lips all fat and wet and smug, and when you drag him in for a really ill-advised kiss, he goes to you all easy and loose and that's fine, too. You could live with this for a while, yeah.


End file.
